


You Are Fireproof

by pearl_o



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Established Relationship, Fights, Graduate School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 16:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik have a fight. Neither of them handles it very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Fireproof

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to pocky_slash for beta and discussion.

When Charles got home from his bioethics seminar, Erik was nowhere to be found in their apartment

This, in and of itself, wasn't a major issue. Annoying, yes - they had stopped arguing last night not because they were finished with all they had to say, but because Charles had insisted that he needed sleep for his presentation today. He had _told_ Erik that they would continue the discussion when he got home - but it wasn't altogether surprising, either, that Erik wouldn't be waiting. It made sense that Erik would want to go out and get some air, have a change of scenery, take a walk, whatever. If it would help him calm down and be more rational, Charles was all in favor of it.

Charles made himself a cup of tea, heated up some leftovers for lunch, and finally settled himself to lounge across the living room couch before he realized something was wrong. There were things missing. 

They kept a series of framed photographs on top of the TV. The ones of Charles and Erik together, or of Charles and Raven were still there. The ones of Erik with his parents were gone.

Charles stood up and headed to the bedroom. A handful of books from the shelves, most of the clothes from Erik's half of the closet, the suitcase from under the bed. Not all of Erik's possessions (nothing Charles had given him, he noticed, feeling as hurt by it as he thought Erik must have intended), but ... enough.

Erik hadn't left a note. He didn't answer his phone, either, any of the first ten times Charles called.

* * *

Raven said, "He's really pissed at you, Charles. Like, epically pissed."

"So you _have_ talked to him?" Charles leaned back against the kitchen wall, closing his eyes. 

"Just for a minute this morning. It was long enough, believe me."

"Do you know where he is?" Charles said, clutching the phone tighter in his grip.

"I have no idea," Raven said. "He didn't say anything to me."

There was something in Raven's voice that made Charles wary, as if she was hesitating, holding something back. "But you _would_ tell me, if you knew?" he prompted. 

He could imagine the expression on Raven's face as she sighed heavily into his ear. He'd seen her frustrated with him like that before, a million times. "I would," Raven said, "but I wouldn't be happy about it. Honestly, Charles, maybe you should just let him be. Obviously he needs some space, you know?"

"I can't fix it if I can't talk to him!" Charles snapped, and Raven sighed again.

* * *

He dug out his address book from the junk drawer in his desk and then spent the next half hour with one hand on his phone, staring at the L page, where Edie Lehnsherr's phone number was jotted down in neat, already faded ink.

Erik's mother lived two hours away. Erik wouldn't have gone home, not when he had two classes tomorrow and a paper due next week, even if he could have afforded a ticket. But Erik talked to her all the time, so it was possible that he'd told her what was going on, what he was doing. And if Edie knew, it was possible she might tell Charles. Decent odds, Charles thought. At least one in three.

On the other hand, though. If Erik _hadn't_ told his mom, and she found out from Charles, calling like this... she'd worry. And Erik would take it badly. Charles could almost hear Erik in his head: _How_ dare _you bring my mother into this_ , his low angry hiss. 

As if he weren't angry enough with Charles already.

* * *

It wasn't a big deal. It shouldn't have been a big deal. They had picked this apartment, above any number of other places, because the rent was low, and it showed in any number of inconveniences. They could easily have lived somewhere nicer, somewhere convenient to campus, somewhere with a washer and drier on property, somewhere the walls weren't so thin and the neighbors so loud - but _fine_ , this was what Erik wanted, this was what he insisted on, and so this was what they got.

Erik had to count every penny, and he didn't let Charles treat him nearly as often as Charles would like. So if Charles fudged the numbers occasionally, told Erik his share of the electric or water bill was a little less than it actually was - well, Erik needed the money, and Charles didn't. It made sense. It made things easier for everybody. 

Except that Erik had found out, finally, and _made_ it into a big deal, had spent last night yelling at Charles as if he were an exceptionally dim-witted child, both of them shouting until the doors and windows rattled - and now, today, he was gone. Just gone.

It was dirty pool, Charles thought. Putting himself in charge, in complete control of the situation, and just leaving Charles here to stew and fret until Erik deigned to speak to him once more. It was rotten, really, manipulative and low and just - well, unfair. All of it was unfair, Charles thought.

* * *

He slept exceptionally badly on the too-wide, too-lumpy mattress (and the stupid maroon sheets that _Erik_ had picked out), but when he woke up in the morning, there was a text on his phone. 

_I'm staying with friends. I need some time to clear my head. I'll be home in a few days._

That was something, at least, Charles thought. It meant that Erik wasn't dead in a _ditch_ somewhere. Not that he had really thought Erik was in danger, but he could have been. He could have been anywhere, and Charles wouldn't have known, because Erik hadn't even taken the time to tell Charles a single thing about where he was or what he was doing. 

But Erik was safe. Charles could take relief in that. Erik was perfectly fine, and that made it a little easier for Charles to breathe properly.

He had planned to call Raven to get her advice on whether or not sitting outside the classroom to pounce on Erik as soon as he got out of his modernist poetry class crossed the line into creepy or stalkerish behavior. At least now he could let that idea go.

Space. Fine. Charles could do that. He could let Erik come to him in his own time, because he knew Erik was going to come.

* * *

Erik came home on Friday night. Charles was already in bed, sitting up and using his laptop; he froze at the sound of the door opening, of Erik's steps in the hallway and living room, and then forced himself to continue what he was doing, as if nothing had changed. 

He didn't look up when Erik stopped and stood in the doorway to their room. After a moment, Erik came inside, sitting down on his side of the bed. 

"Charles," Erik said. 

Charles looked up, then. He shut the laptop and set it on the bedside table. "So you decided to come back."

Erik made a low noise of agreement. He said, "You should know I'm still angry with you."

Charles snorted and folded his arms in front of his chest. 

"Do you honestly not get why I'm upset?" Erik said. 

"I don't see why it matters!" Charles burst out. 

"It matters because I have some fucking pride, Charles," Erik said, and Charles could tell that he was doing his best to keep his voice even, not to let it devolve into shouting again. "I've worked my whole life not to be beholden to anyone, and that includes you. I don't need your _charity_ -"

"It's not like that!"

"How is it not exactly like that?"

"Because," Charles said through clenched teeth, "you stupid idiot, I _love_ you. We've been together for years. What's mine is yours. It's ours." He paused, biting his lip, and then went ahead and said it: "I know we haven't talked about it as such, but I've just always thought that after we got our degrees... well, that we'd get married. And this is, that is how partnership works."

Erik was quiet for a long moment. Charles watched his face closely, the curve of his jaw, the flutter of his eyelashes as he looked down at the bed between them and frowned. "You are a patronizing, irritating, self-righteous son of a bitch, Charles Xavier," he said, "and I love you too. Don't you ever go behind my back or lie to me like that again. Not even if you think it's for my own good. You don't get to decide that."

"Don't you ever leave like that again," Charles said, lifting his chin.

Erik let out chuckle that sounded more tired than amused. "Deal." He reached out to Charles's hand and gave it a brief, light squeeze.

Charles lifted up their hands, still clasped together, and lay a kiss on Erik's knuckles. "Come to bed. I'll let you work out some of your frustrations on me."

Erik's smile was small, but genuine. "In a few minutes. I want to get some work done first."

"All right," Charles said, and he let Erik go, turning his attention back to his laptop until Erik came back.


End file.
